George Fraser - The Candlemass Road

So were we in apprehension, but took comfort from word that had reached us at Christmas, that my Lady Dacre that was grand-daughter to old Lord Ralph as I told you I met her when a little maid, was to come up into the country from London, she being his only kin and heiress to all his great wealth and estates. Whereof we were right glad, for we doubted not that her advisers would take order for the security of the Askerton demesne. Indeed I wondered that she should come in her own person, being but a young woman and long away from that fierce country, when her men of affairs could have been sent, and she continued in her enjoyment of southern pleasantry. But it hath been whispered in mine ear since, that the Queen herself willed it so, for a reason, to wit, that my Lady Margaret having been in waiting on the Queen, had given her offence by her temper, which was as proud, and her stomach as high, as even Her Grace’s, and that was not small, God knows.

Also there had been talk of my Lady Margaret’s commerce with certain young lords at the Court having given displeasure to Her Grace, for she’ was none of your lily maids, but free and frank in her manner, as I had seen when she was little, and I doubt not she smiled whither she pleased, caring not if it misliked Her Grace or no. This may be scandal of the sort they love to tattle after in London, but the long and short was that the Queen commanded her away. So we had great heave and ho at Askerton against her coming, and myself much perturbed, wondering would she tolerate me, the Portingale priest, as her grandsire had done, he being careless in such matters, as I have shown, but she, coming from the Court, it was not to be doubted that she was strong for the reformed church, and like to turn me away, or worse. And at my time of life I knew not whither to go if she dismissed me.

Candlemass was the day pricked for her coming in, and though we knew it not, it was to be the day of Archie Noble Waitabout’s coming also. She was looked for by open day, but he that was not looked for came like a thief in the night while the house slept, and none sounder than I.

BEING THEN IN that state of years when the aches of my limbs and back cured not with resting, and the great scaur on my leg that I had of the Mexican savages troubling most of all, sleep was a sweet relief, and I was wont to drowse abed in the mornings, like any sluggard, but comfortable. None in that household seeking my offices, I had fallen into neglect of all duty, and was seldom abroad before prime. But that Candlemass I was afoot early, it being the day of my lady’s coming in, and we having word that she had lain the night at Naworth, only a short way off, which, thinks I, will have done little for her temper. It had been a fair priory before the old King worked his will on such places, but fallen into neglect lately, and little apt to furnish entertainment for gentle folk. I trembled, too, for our condition at Askerton, for old Lord Ralph had lived somewhat rough, and neglected the comforts of the house, which had not bettered since his death, and was, to tell truth, sadly decayed, for the slatterns swept it but idly, and nothing was clean.

I had remonstrated with Master Hodgson, who was the bailiff, but had no satisfaction there. He was an honest man enough, stout and hearty, but of that choleric temper which makes for tyranny in one when he is given rule over others and hath himself no very quick understanding. A good and honest steward to my lord, knowing then his duties within their limits, but now all the care and management was on him, and it was beyond him, so that he made great stir and noise among the tenants, bidding them this and that, but all to no purpose, and for the household he never ceased to complain and carp, with “Godamercy, the fire’s out!” and “Where the devil are those lackbrain men got to?”, and swearing he must do all himself – but nothing ever done. He was in a great taking for my lady’s arrival, sending the boys up the hill to spy her carriage, and hindering the wenches with his bustling and roaring in the kitchen, and fearful, I think, for his shortcomings over the estate, with rents not properly reckoned or accounts made, for he wrote but poorly, and for figuring commend me to the village dunce. I had offered my help, but he waved me away, saying affairs were not for priests, and more ink on his elbows than on the page. Yet he was an honest man, and meant well, but without my old lord to direct him he was adrift in confusion.

Thinking it well that some things at least should be in order for my lady, I bade the wenches scour and polish in my lord’s old bedroom, and put out the best linen, with lavender between the sheets, and make all as pretty as might be, and myself set to with broom and dusters in the hall, so that there should be one chamber fit for her reception. I raised dust enough for a mill, and with the help of the kitchen loon, Wattie, a great lubber that could have stood billy to Callaban in the play, made shift to remove all the holly and bay and rosemary hung for Christmas, Candlemass being the time when it is taken down. I would have had it away and burned before, but Master Hodgson nayed me, saying it must wait for the day, as in my lord’s time.

We made what order we could in the hall, with fresh rushes and green stuff in a pot, and took away the mouldiest of the tapestry, but we could no way hide the cracked leather of the chairs, or the scaurs on the table, or the moth in the bit carpet that covered it, or the sad neglect of the walls where the damp had come in. Wattie put wood on the great fire, but it was green and bubbled and stank with smoke like the pit, which was of a piece, for he fouled more than he cleaned. Welcome home, my lady, thinks I, to this draughty dirty barn, to the wind and the rain and the bare hillside and the company of animals and Cumbrians, and if ye tarry longer than to change your shoon and rest your cotchman, I shall be the more amazed.

I said as much, comparing our appointments with that she had known at Court, and was rebuked for my pains by the lurden Wat (for there is no respect in these people), who doubted not she would take joy to be home again, and find all to her liking. I took leave to doubt it, and was told, with a great sniff of his scabby nose, and sidelong nods, that I did not know her.

“And you do, to be sure,” said I, and was taken at my word.

“I did,” says he, grown solemn, “when she was a little bit lass, afore she went doon tae London, alack the day! I was in’t stable then – aye, I put her on her first pony. Little Lady Madge, we ca’d her, and she ca’d me Wattie boy, that she did. ‘Help us up, clumsy Wat!’ Hey, hey, a grand wee lass! I mind when she fell in’t Ghyll Beck and cam’ hame blubberin’ wi’ a girt scratch on her arm, and I lapped it wi’ a clout and dried her eyes and took her to’t buttery, and old Granny Sowerby gi’d her dandelion and burdock, and the la’l soul supped it and cried for mair. Hey, hey, a grand wee lass!”

It moved me to see this churl so devoted, and I asked him, would she still be the same little lass, seventeen long years after? Time, I told him, might have wrought a change.

“Never!” cries he. “She’s a Dacre, aye, and a Cumberland lass, ever and a’!”

I told him she had been maid in waiting on the Queen’s Grace, “and it may be that she no longer falls in streams or drinks dandelion. Your little playmate will be a great lady now, Master Wat.”

“She was a great leddy when she was four year old and put vinegar in her grandad’s beer,” says he, with a great laugh. “Aye, and ‘Whee’s pissed in this pot?’ cries my old lord. And the wee lass supped her milk and cries: ‘And whee’s pissed in this pot, an’ a‘?’ Hey, but my lord laughed till he cried! Aye, aye, a grand la’l lass!”